


Joyrides through the second circle

by CaptainDude (HandbagMurder)



Series: South Park one shots [6]
Category: South Park
Genre: Dry Sex, First Time, M/M, Naughty Doings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandbagMurder/pseuds/CaptainDude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a sleepless night promises an awkward breakfast coffee in the morning (But lets worry about that after the fact)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joyrides through the second circle

**Author's Note:**

> Hi im new and im having a hard time learning how to write a whole new cast of characters. I hoped that getting this very first one over with would be conducive to future improvement and productivity. eyyyyyy...

 

Tweek is lying on his back in the bed and it’s cold. The blankets are bunched up around his stomach and calves so that the tips of his toes are exposed and he is shivering not because of the chill but because beside him, Craig sleeps easily. His breathing is soft but heavy enough to be audible, and with every soft exhalation Tweek feels the hair on his arms prickling. He wishes he could rest so lightly but he is heavy and his head feels like it’s filled with static - the pressure inside his skull is so enormous that his arms and legs feel week and his eyes ache, and there’s frigid sweat at the back of his neck even though it’s warm underneath all these blankets.

Craig turns onto his back and starts snoring, and Tweek knots his fingers tighter in the sheets as though it might help calm the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He can’t lie still and he can’t concentrate on counting. Counting sheep, counting seconds, counting the freckles on the back of Craig’s neck. It’s all numbers and they are all fiddly and he can’t wrap his mind around them well enough to find the effort worthwhile. He lets them slip out of his grasp and instead focuses on watching the moonlight cast eerie shadows on the ceiling.

Craig’s room is in the south side of the attic. The roof slants down and the uncurtianed window faces the street. Frost creeps over the windowpane, and it glitters like a million little eyes and Tweek can’t stop feeling the night peer through into where they lie together and pass the early hours. The bedside clock says three twenty seven am. Tweek is starting to get a headache.

Sometimes, spending the night at Craig’s is better than spending a night in his own room. Sometimes Craig’s place is cosier, safer, and the walls feel a little less like paper and false security, but sometimes it’s worse because sometimes staying at Craig’s feels like torture of a strange new kind. The kind which only really came along when he was fifteen and he realised that those rare moments Craig smiled and showed off his braces were the moments he couldn’t get out of his head, and all those times Craig’s hand brushed his arm softly to get him to do something became times he felt himself turn weak at the knees. It’s bizarre, it’s alien, and even though it feels right it feels so wrong because this isn’t something that happens to him. He’s far too medicated and far too unstable, and now he’s seventeen and he’s lying in Craig’s bed trying not to make eye contact with the darkness pooling in the corners of the room. He doesn’t want to roll over and see Craig is there unguarded, his hair a devastation of black against the pillow (and he doesn’t seem to care that he looks naked without his hat), because that would make the whole thing real and he doesn’t want to believe in it. He can’t.  

This isn’t the kind of thing which happens to him.

Tweek bites his fingernails but there isn’t all that much nail any more so he just chews at his nail beds until he starts tasting blood. He tosses and turns and clenches his hand to stop the bleeding. He doesn’t notice that his moving around is dragging up all the sheets and that Craig’s snoring has stopped suddenly, without warning.

“Tweek?”

His voice is low, sounding like rubber tires on fresh laid metal. Tweek jumps, hits his head on the wall behind them, and the pain cleaves through his skull so that he gasps, and Craig swears, grabbing his arm firmly under the sheets.

“Hey! What the fuck?”

He seems startled. Tweek curls his toes against the mattress.

“I’m sorry! Jesus, I’m so sorry!”

Craig hesitates, before rolling onto his side to look at him, and his nose is straight like an arrow and his lips are turned down at the corners. His eyes are the kind of brown that looks black- even if Tweek could have seen them in the shadows of his face he knows they would be blank and endless.

“… Are you okay?”

Tweek’s heart drops into his stomach, joining the moths beating feathery wings against the lining of his gut.

“Can’t sleep.” Tweek tells him rigidly. “Nothing unusual. Nn…”

Nothing unusual, nothing new. He could tell the truth but what would he say? He’s worried about something again. What is it this time? Oh a little of this, a little of that. He’s worried about the state of the economy. He’s worried about whether or not he is going to wear a hole in the crotch of his jeans and not realise. He’s worried about letting himself drift off next to Craig, only to be caught up in a nightmare somehow worse than this lopsided, longing existence where he is only inches from another warm human body yet separated by countless unsaid words. Keep talking. Keep breathing. Never stop breathing and

_Touch me._

Craig looks at him in a way that says he doesn’t believe him, but maybe that’s just the dark or the way that Craig looks because Tweek can never really be sure what is going on in Craig’s head at any given time and that scares him. Everything scares him if he lets it, but that scares him particularly and when Craig sighs and reaches out to touch his forehead, that scares him too.

Craig’s fingers are cold, like ice, but his hip close to Tweek’s is warm even though the cold night air is leaking around them both and making goose pimples rise on the bared planes of Craig’s forearms.

“You’re not sick right? I don’t want to get the flu or anything.”

Tweek shakes his head fiercely. Don’t talk about the flu, he’s always worried that he might catch the flu and die, and he doesn’t want to think about that now or ever. It’s a shame, now Craig has said it it’s stuck in his brain.

Maybe he is sick? Maybe this is just some fever dream?

“… Can I get you anything?”

His fingers brush against the roots of Tweek’s hair, and when he opens his mouth to respond the words just kind of dissolve at the back of his throat. He was going to ask for a coffee maybe, or a glass of water, but it’s hard to focus on what he wants when what he needs is inches away from him, warm skin and the freckles on his shoulders where the sun could never reach. They are a mystery, just like the thoughts inside Craig’s head, and they are beautiful just like the way Craig’s eyes flutter, and his short lashes are black and vivid and Tweek isn’t sure if he’s imagining them or if he can really see them inches from his skin.

“… It’s fine.”

It’s fine, even though he is trembling a little and he is slumped against the wall at a weird angle so that his neck is starting to ache. Craig sighs and lets his fingers drift from the slightly damp roots of Tweek’s hair to the side of his cheek. His chin. His throat.

Tweek thinks he is going to melt.

“Are you warm enough?”

Tweek realises that his feet are uncovered and he is freezing, and that the hot places in which he feels where Craig is next to him are not really the places where he is touching but the places where he _could_ be touching, if Tweek wasn’t so scared of saying something. If he wasn’t so unsure how to go about it.

“Actually, I’m… kind of…”

“Here.” Craig pushes the bottom of the duvet down with his feet and their ankles knock lightly. With slender arms he heaves Tweek’s share of the bedclothes back over. Tweek realises that Craig has been taking them inch by inch and for some reason, this is endearing and desperately human. “My bad. I should have got an extra one.”

“No no, its okay. Really. It’s fine.”

Craig’s body warmth is still clinging to the insides of the sheets.

As Craig settles down, and the silence consumes his soft breathing and the sound of bed slats creaking under his weight, Tweek lets his eyes close and he finds them heavy and sore, in need of a rest. Beside him, Craig is probably looking at the ceiling wondering whether or not he should do something, or if he should simply let it be, but Tweek doesn’t know for sure and he doesn’t want to ask instead he lets his hands relax and unfurl, his shoulders ease, and his stomach muscles unclench in a way which drops his entire bodyweight into the cradle of the mattress. He’s nervous, yes he’s _very_ nervous. But nervousness has become a normal state of being and somehow, without really knowing how, Tweek lets his hand gravitate to the side of Craig’s leg, which is skinny and firm and clad in cotton boxer briefs. Tweek thinks his face must be glowing with heat but Craig doesn’t react with any more shock than he reacts to anything. He just sighs and turns onto his side with his chin on Tweek’s shoulder. His hands stroke small circles against the inside of his shaking arm and his breath is ticklish against the side of Tweek’s neck, which makes him feel kind of like he can’t stay still and his skin is crawling, but not in the same unpleasant way it crawls when he needs coffee.

His fingertips are pressing hollows in the hot smooth planes Craig’s inner thigh.

“Is your dick hard?”

“What?!”

Tweek’s eyes snap open and he almost pulls his hand away but Craig grabs it and holds it there, clenched between his legs.

“Is your dick hard?”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Well I was just asking.”

Just asking, but why? Why would he ask something like that?

“… Does it matter?!”

“Not really I guess.”

Craig’s arm coils around Tweek’s middle and the closeness is strange and fantastic, but also very surreal. Their limbs twist together and Craig wedges his upper leg in between Tweek’s thighs seemingly without effort. Tweek feels his breath catch in the root of his throat. With a frustrated grunt Craig works his hands free of the crush between their bodies and pulls Tweek’s chin up to their noses together. It creates ripples which seem to spread down ever notch in the ladder of his spine.

“Hey Tweekers?”

“… Huh?”

It’s hard to find the words to string a sentence together.

“You like me right?”

Like him? _Like him_? Well of course?! But the question sends Tweek’s mind into overdrive. Does he mean in a friendly way, or a romantic way, or a sexual way, or does he mean some other way entirely and its hard to say because even though Tweek knows the exact ways he likes Craig Tucker, the boy with the weird voice and the strange creeping formation of freckles on his neck and chest, he doesn’t know what way Craig is asking and that mingled with the heady smell of Craig’s hair is making him incredibly tingly and incredibly short of breath.

“Of course I do!”

And then Craig is kissing him and it’s too hot, to vivid, too intense, the way that under his hands Craig’s back curves smoothly, and his dick _is_ hard but he still hasn’t managed to answer the question.

And then just as suddenly as it began its over, and the separation is like having an appendage removed- it seems unfair and premature.

“… Jesus Christ.”

The dim world swims back into focus around him and he realises that Craig is blotting out most of the silvery moonlight shining into the room. He is a silhouette, a dream, an angel and he is drifting closer again and this time when he kisses its softer, with less braces and force and more tenderness, and Tweek is the one who has to grab his face and insist upon a little more tongue and a little more urgency to satisfy the swelling need in his core. The elastic of Craig’s underwear sits flush against the curve of his ass- it feels like a new experience even though it is just elastic, and that’s probably because it is charged with the heat in Craig’s fingers and sliding slowly down- Craig is rutting against Tweek’s hips and his breathing is growing a little louder, and Tweek is probably breathing loudly too but he can’t tell because inside of his skull is the sound of snowfall on a TV screen with no reception. It’s like an out of body experience except he’s more in his body than he has ever really been before and every single square inch of him seems like its on fire in the most delicious way. Craig’s pelvis pressing on his feels good, his cock is hard and its not the usual kind of hard that just kind of goes away if he ignores it it’s the kind of hard that happens when he touches himself and he realises he has only a few seconds to go before he shoots his load all over the back of his quivering knuckles. Its urgent, and purposeful, and Craig sucks a sharp breath when Tweek holds him tight enough to push him on his back and the entire composition of the bed becomes unsalvageable because the sheets are all knotted around their calves and the duvet is lumped up under Craig’s back in a manner that seems weirdly sensual and kind of like being stripped all the way down to bare skin.

“Fuck, watch the hips.”

His hips are bony ridges and they must be hard pressing against Craig’s navel. Tweek apologises briefly but he isn’t really thinking about that. He is thinking about the bunched up shirt under Craig’s arms, and the way his lips are tingling and slick, and the way that when he grinds his dick against the erection outlined in Craig’s shorts his bedmate tenses and his lips press together, like he doesn’t want to let it out but he very much does at the same time.

“… Is this okay?”

“Uh huh.”

Craig nods hard and his head tips back against the pillow. His throat is long. Pale. And Tweek has to bite the inside of his cheek because he wants to suck it but he’s scared to leave marks and raise questions. This moment, these seconds where his insides are hot with want and the strange sensation of being irrevocably close to someone else, is theirs and theirs alone and he doesn’t want anyone else to see any marks or bear witness. Not right now. Not while this is precious and new.

Craig moans when Tweek leans closer and buries his nose against the side of his neck, and his legs wrap around Tweek’s like he’s pulling him in close enough that it qualifies as making love or maybe its just a weak moment in the lives of two horny teenaged boys, its hard to tell in the middle because hormones are high and Craig is making noises more perfect than any kind of drug could ever be. The feeling is sweet and it creeps up Tweek’s back, and he looses himself somehow in the end with his teeth sinking deeply into the side of Craig’s neck and his hands seizing great handfuls of the ass he had never really thought about as being flawless until right now. There were a lot of things he never thought about until right now, like whether or not Craig was the kind of person who responded well to rough treatment or if the sounds of little ‘oh!’s were erotic, and it seemed kind of strange because he had spent so many nights thinking about what it would be like to actually French kiss the guy who had a mouthful of metal and a temperament like a dead fish that one would expect him to have covered all of those eventualities at some point.

Apparently not.

Instead they all come thick and fast, and the answers always seem more amazing than the last, and the closer Craig gets to coming the more he rocks himself upward like he’s some kind of a wanton whore and maybe that’s teaching Tweek something about himself and the kind of things he wants to hear from someone feeling sexual pleasure. Excitement. Absolute bliss.

“Oh… _oh! Fuck!_ ”

Craig seems to tremble from his marrow outward, and with a densely swelling wave of sensation Tweek feels himself reach orgasm too, and it’s firmer in the place behind his balls than he’s ever really had. Craig’s body becomes soft and pliable and weak, and his breathing starts to even out as Tweek rolls off him and realises that the front of his pyjamas are sticky and gross and he is sweating, like he has just run a marathon or dry humped his best friend. The moonlight in the room seems brighter, more vivid, and his head feels so thickly swaddled that he doesn’t care if it’s judgemental or indifferent. All that he cares about is that Craig is still there next to him and he’s coming down, and as he’s coming down he’s pulling himself together so that his face and his voice and all the qualities about him that Tweek cares about will still be there the next time he opens his mouth and says

“… That was pretty cool I guess.”

And it was, and Tweek grins even though he is still red faced and shaking, and he’s lying on his back in bed and its cold outside but inside its warmer and his skin is damp with sweat. Craig’s breathing is even, and the clock says three forty one am.

Outside, it begins to snow.


End file.
